


A Not-So-Surprising Attack

by Elfbert



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:59:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6111523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfbert/pseuds/Elfbert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The attack had been sudden - brutal, and, Malcolm fumed, completely foreseeable...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Not-So-Surprising Attack

**Author's Note:**

> A little challenge!fic, issued by a friend.

The attack had been sudden - brutal, and, Malcolm fumed, completely foreseeable. Not just foreseeable, even, but the exact subject of a briefing he had set up with Captain Archer, which had then been postponed, not once, but twice, until all Malcolm could do was attempt to warn him of the dangers of this particular planetary system when they happened to meet up in the gym.

Of course, Archer had laughed it off, talked about diplomacy and told Malcolm not to worry. Malcolm had coldly informed him that it was his job to prepare, and preparation was not worrying, it was just the most efficient way to keep the crew alive and the ship flying.

 

Malcolm slid down another ladder, the friction against his palms warming his already sweaty hands even more. He dodged around crew who were rushing this way and that, all reacting to having a bloody massive hole carved in the side of their ship, and continued toward the torpedo bay.

The doors were closed, but a quick check on the control system told him that the bay was still pressurised and with sufficient oxygen content to keep him alive. So he punched in his code and braced himself.

The bay was filled with smoke, and Malcolm covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve as best he could, peering into the gloom.

Archer might be having a go at diplomacy now, but he was damned if they couldn’t back it up with a bit of fire power. He moved to the console, glad that his security team were still working, albeit in the midst of coughing and spluttering from the smoke.

“Report,” he snapped to the nearest person.

“Torpedo tubes aft are still viable, but we’ve lost tubes 1 and 2 forward,” Crewman Katana reported. “Only one phase cannon still operable.”

“Shit,” Malcolm muttered under his breath, fingers flying over the console. He knew Archer would still be talking to their attackers, so sent a message to Engineering and T’Pol’s station on the bridge with the basics of the weaponry situation. At least she was sensible enough to know when force was required.

 

Trip stood in the engine room, fingers tapping on the console in front of him, snapping orders out to passing crew and watching as the reams of information flickered in front of him. He noted the message from Malcolm in amongst the information on depressurised sections or damaged sensors and relays. He could have started adding up the number of crew members who had probably been in those sections, but he didn’t allow himself to, it would only distract him from the task at hand. Bulkheads were holding, everyone was doing their jobs, and they hadn’t been fired on for a few minutes now. He wiped the sweat from his brow. He was certain that Archer could talk them out of being blasted to dust.

 

Certain right up until the phase cannon was fired, and moments later an answering barrage slammed into them, sending people and tools flying through engineering as the Enterprise lurched wildly.

He clung on to the console as the ship seemed to steady. Then the gravity plating failed, restarted, failed again, as just as everyone was trying to find bits of the wall or railings to hang on to, kicked in again just as the ship went to warp, sending them all crashing to the deck plating.

Trip knew that jumping to warp was an act of desperation, but he also recognised that whatever state they were in they needed to get away from their attacker or be destroyed.

The journey at warp only lasted a very short time, and as they fell back to impulse power Archer’s voice came over the comm system.

“All section heads report,” he said, sounding weary.

Trip gave his report, and waited to hear Malcolm’s, but the comm remained silent. As Phlox began to list casualty numbers Trip tapped the screen. “Tucker to Reed,” he called.

There was no answer.

“Tucker to Armoury,” he tried again.

Then he checked his console once more, and noticed new information.

He cut through the comm chatter on the emergency band. “Medics and an engineering recovery team to the armoury,” he called. “Depressurisation in progress.” And he ran.

He arrived at the armoury doors before the rescue team, and stood impatiently outside, knowing lives would be lost if they weren’t fast enough. The situation wasn’t yet critical, but every second meant more of their atmosphere vented into space.

Finally the team appeared in their EV suits, running toward him. He knew he had to leave them to do their job so fell back to the next set of bulkhead doors and stood with Phlox and two of the medical team, impatiently waiting. He dragged a PADD from his pocket and quickly hooked into the live feed from the EV suit the team leader was wearing.

Smoke billowed from the wrecked console making it difficult to see, but there was definitely the shadowy outline of a body on the floor. Trip sucked in a breath, and Phlox crowded over his shoulder.

“Ah yes, don’t worry, Commander, we are quite prepared.”

Somehow, as the picture wobbled and the body was dragged across the floor, Trip managed to keep himself from ripping open the door in front of him and going in there to drag Malcolm to safety himself.

Finally the comm reported that everyone was accounted for, and the re-pressurisation of the section began, with Trip virtually climbing the door in front of him as the numbers ticked up. The doors hissed open, and he was almost trampled by the medical team fanning out to the three casualties, although he was grateful that Phlox headed straight for Malcolm.

He leaned over, taking in the blood and froth smeared around Malcolm’s mouth and nose, the slightest movement of the chest, and the swelling…everywhere. He grimaced.

“Anything I can do, Doc?”

“Call sickbay, ensure they are ready to receive three casualties in need of rapid hyperbaric treatment with an oxygen nitrogen mix.”

Trip did so, watching as Malcolm was lifted onto a stretcher, Phlox still pumping hyposprays into him even as he was moved.

He was glad to see a mask was already tightly sealed over Malcolm’s face, and various monitors sat on his chest, flashing and giving out reassuringly regular beeps.

The journey to sickbay was taken at a run, and when they arrived there were three beds with what looked like tents hanging over them. Trip had never seen them before, but he supposed it was only sensible for the designers to have thought of decompression accidents occurring when designing a ship for deep space travel.

Malcolm and his colleagues were loaded onto the beds, and the monitors above immediately jumped into life.

“You can remain with him, if you like, Commander, mmm?” Phlox said, as he worked quickly.

Trip nodded mutely, certain there were a thousand things he should be fixing, but needing to stay with the one he couldn’t.

The ‘tent’ dropped over them all, and Trip could hear the steady hiss of gas.

“You may feel a touch…odd,” Phlox said. “Mr Reed requires a specific Nitrogen-Oxygen mix if he is to recover quickly.”

Trip just nodded.

A crew-woman appeared outside the tent. “Commander Tucker, the Captain needs to speak to you,” she called.

Trip sighed, but knew he had to go.

“There is an exit point, there,” Phlox pointed to a particularly saggy part of the tent. “Do not loiter there, move outside as quickly as you can.”

He obeyed, as the material seemed to stick together, then split to allow him through before sealing again behind him, keeping in the precious gas.

“Tucker to Archer,” he called over the comm.

“Trip, they said Malcolm was injured. How is he?” Archer began.

“Phlox is workin’ on him,” Trip replied. “I don’t know. Didn’t look good from where I was standing, but…Phlox doesn’t seem so concerned.”

“We’ve sustained a lot of damage,” Archer continued. “We’re not really fit to fly.”

Trip sighed. “I know. I’ll get right on it.”

“No, no, stay with Malcolm if he needs you,” Archer replied. “There’s a Vulcan cruiser coming to us, they should be here within the day. They’ll take us somewhere to start repairs.”

“Just let me know if there’s anything I can do, Sir,” Trip offered, hoping there wasn’t. “I’ll have a communicator with me.”

 

When he got back to Sickbay Phlox was still working, now playing a regenerator over Malcolm’s chest, murmuring to himself as he did so. Trip slipped back inside the tent and stood, awkwardly, before realising Malcolm’s bloodshot eyes were now open.

“Mal?”

“He cannot speak yet,” Phlox said, in a tone that made Trip wonder if it was directed at him or Malcolm. “But as soon as I’m finished we will increase the pressure, and I’m certain he will fully recover.”

Trip just nodded, glad to see the blood had been cleaned from Malcolm’s face, and almost all of the swelling had disappeared already.

“So…” Trip began. “It’s not…too bad?”

Phlox spoke loudly, as if broadcasting Malcolm’s diagnosis to the bridge without using the comm system.

“Mr Reed has experienced severe cyanosis, bleeding into the lungs, internal bleeding and plasma loss, ebullism and a grade 3 barotrauma to both eardrums. He’ll be fine! Any other patient I would expect them to be up an about within the week. With the Lieutenant I will consider it a victory if I keep him from returning to duty within two days.”

Trip found himself on the receiving end of one of Phlox’s alarmingly wide smiles, and realised the doctor had made a joke, so hopefully the situation really wasn’t as dire as it sounded.

Malcolm looked as if he was about to say something, then realised he’d been told to stay silent, so just raised a slightly shaky thumbs up.

“Right. Now, Commander, for the next few hours you must be either in or out, and you must make your choice now.”

“Err..In,” Trip nodded.

Phlox left the tent, and returned with a chair, a small box of snacks and drinks, a bedpan and two empty bottles. Trip began to question his decision.

 

“So…” he sat down, squeezing Malcolm’s hand. Malcolm raised an eyebrow at him. He realised why Phlox had been virtually shouting now - eardrum trauma of some sort, he’d said. “What kind of stunt were you pulling there, huh? Of all the…”

Malcolm squirmed his hand free and pointed down.

Trip frowned.

Malcolm jabbed his finger downward again.

Trip looked down, and saw nothing.

“What?” he frowned.

Malcolm sighed - which Trip was fairly sure should have been banned along with talking. And mouthed ‘PADD’ at him.

He scrabbled in his thigh-pocket and pulled it out, handing it over to an impatient Malcolm.

‘Destroyed them?’ Malcolm wrote on the PADD.

“Errr..I didn’t ask,” Trip replied. “We warped out.” The sigh he got in reply made him frown. “I had other things on my mind!” he protested.

Malcolm ignored him, tapping away on the PADD.

Trip’s communicator beeped in his pocket.

“Yes?” he said into it.

“Trip…why am I getting messages from Malcolm?” Archer asked.

“Oh the…” Trip snatched the PADD from Malcolm’s hands. “Sorry, Sir, won’t happen again.”

Malcolm frowned.

“You can message ME,” Trip said, holding the PADD out of reach. “No one else. No looking at reports, no working, no messaging, nothing.”

Malcolm took the PADD back and lay it face down on his chest, closing his eyes.

“Great,” Trip mumbled, slumping in his chair. Stuck in a chamber with a sulking armoury officer. He yawned to pop his ears.

The PADD was thrust under his noise.

‘What? Can’t hear. shout’ it said.

“Nothing,” Trip said, loudly.

The PADD was snatched back.

‘Was not pulling stunt. Was saving ship.’ Was written on it and waved at him.

“You could’ve fired from the bridge, instead of…” Trip waved his hands. “Going down to the armoury and having your lungs explode.”

‘Relays blew controls lost’ Malcolm replied.

Trip gave a ‘humph’ and sat back, still not happy about the situation.

‘drink?’ Malcolm waved in front of his face.

“Oh…dunno, hang on, I gotta ask Phlox,” he said, and pulled out his communicator, rather than shouting across Sickbay.

“Tucker to Phlox.”

He watched as Phlox looked up, at the comms panel, then to their little tent, which was now bulging oddly as the pressure inside it rose.

“Hey Doc, can Malcolm have a drink?”

Phlox headed over to them. “Yes indeed! The clear one, in the bottle, and only small sips, it may lead to…discomfort, otherwise.”

Trip helped Malcolm sit up a little and supported him as he sipped from the bottle.

He began coughing, hard, and Trip turned to Phlox, panicking.

“It’s to be expected,” Phlox said cheerfully. “There is a bowl under the bed, tissues and wipes.

Trip groped around under the biobed, finding a shallow dish and holding it under Malcolm’s chin, watching in disgust as he coughed up congealed blood and mucus.

Once the coughing fit subsided Phlox turned back to his other patients, two of whom were also in the bulging tent-like chambers, being tended to by junior medical staff.

“All right?” Trip said, gently lowering Malcolm back to the bed. 

“Yeah,” Malcolm croaked.

Trip wagged his finger. “No speaking, remember? I’m enjoyin’ the quiet.”

If looks could have killed, Trip was certain he’d be in need of Phlox’s skills himself.


End file.
